A Glimpse At The Past - Episodes 1 & 2by Malcolm J. Croan

Genre:MemoirSwearwords: A few strong ones.Description:An autobiographical account narrated in a series of short stories of some of the more colourful, and not so colourful, periods of my life. We all have regrets in our past lives, but given it all over again there is little I would change._____________________________________________________________________When does a life begin? When you are held up by the ankles and slapped on the butt, or when you first take responsibility for your own future? For me it was on the smoky platform of a train station, when my parents waved goodbye and I was dispatched to an all boys boarding school, just under a hundred miles from everything I held dearest. I was eight years old and would be a minor for another eight years, but from that moment on, I knew that I would be responsible for my own destiny. In time I would rebel and abscond from that male scholastic domain, and life would transport me to almost every corner of the world. It had endowed me with good looks and personable personality, but it had also plagued me with an insatiable desire to move on and see what lay over the distant horizon._____________________________________________________________________

The Great Escape

The whole dormitory was in an expectant silence as I looked up into his cold green eyes. The black robed demon was about to strike and I was determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in my hate filled eyes. Brother Tassianis was his ordained name and I hated this man with a vengeance; for the past four years he had controlled my life, and I in my small way his.From shoulder height his arm flailed down and the two pronged, inch thick leather strap instantly left blue, white, and pink welts on my outstretched hand. I didn’t even flinch; inside I was seething and cried out in instant agony. But he would never know, nor would any of the fifty or so other onlookers that now kneeled or stood on their beds to witness my punishment ‘The other one boy,’ he demanded, his ruddy face tight with effort. I lowered my injured hand and raised my left. Six times he would visit his wrath on my outstretched limbs. My punishment for leaving the school grounds without permission. My mission: to purchase a bottle of pop, and a cream bun from the baker shop barely a hundred yards from the rear school gate.Defiantly I turned my back on my tormentor and made my way back along the wide central isle of the dormitory. Three rows of ten: bed locker, bed locker to my left and two to my right. The previously tense silence now faded into chatter as the boys all garbed in striped pyjamas began to talk about my conduct. A few braver ones called out their support, but mostly it was their faces that betrayed their admiration, and that’s what it was all about, not losing their respect. At a boarding school with a complement of three hundred and thirty boys, you were either a leader or you were a follower, and no way was I going to be a follower.Lights out nine thirty, and as I pulled the covers up that night my hands still throbbing painfully I decided I had had enough. I was twelve years old now, and soon I would be a teenager. Fuck you Brother Tassianis, I am going to run away, and I am going to do it on your watch. In my mind I imagined Brother Ass-hole getting six of the best for his negligence in allowing me to escape. The nightly symphony of bed-springs began to squeak as I refrained from self-stimulation and began to plan in detail my route to freedom.O’Malley was a day-boy at St Joseph’s College and a classmate, and so it was with his help I obtained an open ticket on the twice daily steam train from Dumfries to Edinburgh via Glasgow. That was the easy part; actually finding the right opportune moment with enough free time to make my bid was going to be tricky. This is where the intemperate Scottish climate would come into play. Every Wednesday and Saturday afternoons we were obliged to play rugby or soccer, but if the weather was bad enough we were led through the town to the local cinema. This would be my opportunity, and as it was November, with luck I wouldn’t have to wait long.As it turned out it was a Wednesday, and with Brother Ass-hole leading the way, three hundred and thirty boys all dressed in duffle coats beneath which were gold braided royal blue blazers, (I mention the blazers because it was important not to be recognized while on the run.) and three abreast marched through snow covered streets to the Dumfries Playhouse.O’Malley sat beside me in the dimmed cinema, and apart from giving moral courage it was his job, physically if necessary, to make sure that no squeaks raised the alarm. The lights faded, the curtains parted, and with a cacophony of sound “The Guns Of Naverone” burst onto the silver screen, and I was gone.From the cinema to the train station was about half a mile, but I was already cutting it fine. The Glasgow train departed at two thirty and it was already one fifty-five, but I made it with about five minutes to spare. With the ticket already purchased I waited well outside the station until I could hear the whistle of the train. Boys in the past had been apprehended at this point, because the stationmaster and the ticket clerk were primed to intercept any boys in gold braided blue blazers. As the train pulled in I moved to the station entrance. Minus the obligatory school cap and collar well up on my duffle coat I snuck past the ticket office and on to the train just as it began to pull out of the steam filled station. With a billowing of white and grey smoke the whistle sounded and I was free.I made it home a hundred miles all told around teatime. My mother was so speechless all she could think to do was call my father, who for once in his life came directly home without first stopping at the pub, so at least my mother had something to be grateful for? He immediately called my school, who unto that point had not missed me, and even went so far as to insist that I was still there.I smiled; oh Brother Ass-hole was in big trouble now?Epilogue:The following day I was driven back to school, whereupon I was told to report to the headmaster for another six of the best. (Another black robed antagonist.) He kept me waiting outside his office for about two hours; after which he appeared and told me he was too busy, to return to class and he would attend to me another time. He never did! I like to think that he had decided that, at least in my case, corporal punishment was not the answer.A couple of weeks later, while on a business trip my father came to visit me. I told him that if he didn’t take me with him that night I would abscond again, only this time I would not make for my home, where I was obviously not welcome. Instead I would make for the streets of London. That did it. I bade farewell to St Joseph's College that very evening.________________________________________________________________________

The Land Down Under

As the son of a wholesale fish merchant, an enterprise of considerable size on a nation wide basis, I fully expected to follow in my father’s footsteps and command at least a senior position in the family business. By nineteen sixty-five, and sixteen years old, I had started at the bottom, but did not seem to be progressing as quickly as I aspired. It was then that I was informed that my father, his brothers, and his cousins had conspired against me. In their wisdom they had agreed that only the elder son of each brood would be encouraged to take up the reins so to speak. And being the younger son, my ass was out of the window. No I would not be dismissed, but nor was I likely to advance much beyond chief washer of pungent maggot ridden fish boxes. An occupation that was already having a considerable negative effect on my romantic assignations.‘What would you like to do with your life,’ asked my father. Now god knows what made me say it, for I had not given it any serious thought, and in hindsight I should have known better. ‘I think I would like to go to sea!’ I professed. Now my father was one of those men that never let grass grow under his feet. Either that or he couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Before you could whistle Dixie; a few telephone calls had been made, friends of friends contacted and favours called in. I was kitted out in the several different uniforms, and working gear of a cadet officer in the British Merchant Navy and packed off to Cardiff to join my first ship.It was a cold wet dark night I first stepped aboard the ‘M.V. Border Shepherd.’ A twenty thousand ton oil tanker, owned by ‘Common Brothers’ of Newcastle-Upon Tyne and on permanent charter to ‘BP’. We shipped out the next day, loaded cargo at Immingham and charted a course for Trinidad.On board beer was £1.00 a case (24), cigs, half of that 10/- shillings a carton, as was all bottles of spirits, and as long as you didn’t overindulge, nobody seemed to give a dam. I mention this because not only did they greatly enhance life on board, but were also an extremely tradable commodity while bartering in foreign ports.Sixteen years old and let loose in the Caribbean? I guess that at these tender years people just assume that you are a virgin, as it was I had had a couple of gropes, and even managed to baptize the trouser snake on one brief occasion, brief being the operative word, if you catch my drift,( excuse the pun.) But the ladies of Trinidad (god bless them) got it into their heads that I was a cherry-boy. Now as they were of a darker persuasion, they seemed to think that bartering for this white boy's cherry would sustain a worthwhile discount for their favours. And so it came to pass that for a mere couple of bars of Lifebuoy soap and a carton of lucky strike, I became a man.Leaving my comparative innocence behind in ‘Port of Spain’ we sailed next for the U.S. Coast. Yes I did manage to broaden my horizons there, but nothing memorable. But there was this one night, the ships spark and myself were being taxied into Portland Main. The driver and owner of the vehicle, and several others I believe, on discovering that we were both Scots, insisted that we come home with him and meet his wife and family. Something to do with their own heritage, I believe. Nonetheless it was an enjoyable evening. It was the first time I ever saw a coloured television, and he had two of them, one on top of the other, and both on. ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Well he retorted,’ if you don’t want to watch one program, you can watch the other. We were given the grand tour of his house, which I must say was quite palatial in an American sort of way. A kind of Graceland, before Graceland if you know what I mean. We were then treated to a couple of the biggest steaks I had ever seen in my life, whereupon our host proceeded to cut his steak with the side of his fork. ‘You don’t need a knife over here,’ he proclaimed. The situation reminded me of the old joke when a couple of yanks while touring Scotland were shown Loch Lomond for the first time. ‘Gee,’ said the yank, to his wife and the tour guide, I’d love to have that in my back yard back home. Whereupon the guide retorted, ‘if you can suck as hard as you can blow, you will get it there in no time.Our next port of call was Bahrain in the Persian Gulf. We loaded crude oil and headed for Kobe Japan. There was another cadet officer on board, and truth be known we didn’t get on very well. I don’t recall his name, but I did have a pet name for him, ‘Harpic,’ (clean round the bend.) Now Harpic, whom I assure you wasn’t all quite there, and I were responsible for discharging cargo in six hour shifts. H, being the senior cadet got the first six hours ashore. On his return he claimed to be in love with a hooker he had met in some dockside tavern. Now it was my turn, and off I set with a couple of the ships officers. We didn’t make it too far before ducking into a local hostelry for couple of sake’s, whereupon the young ladies of the establishment began to advertise their wares. I took no part in the negotiations, but was informed that we were, for the princely sum of four thousand yen, (£4.00) on our way to the local geisha house. Ah well in for a penny, in for a pound, or in this case four pounds.After being relieved of my shoes, and with much politeness and great ceremony I was ushered into a room completely void of furnishings, except for a tiny childlike dressing table against one wall. While wondering what to do next, the rice paper partitioned wall slid silently along, and the Mamasan entered carrying a rolled up futon mattress, which she proceeded to spread across the white reed-ed floor. A couple of cylindrical brick hard pillows were added, and again I was left alone.The young geisha selected for me, while kneeling on the far side of the screen, slid it along, greeted me in her cordial Japanese way, then entered, kneeled again, slid the screen closed, greeted me again, then waited for me to initiate our coupling. By this time I had retreated to the small dressing table, and with my back towards my prize began to disrobe. Now impotence in a sixteen-year-old I can assure you is not a desirable state to be in such circumstances. Whether it was the beer, the sake, or just the ambiance of the moment, Percy point blank refused to rise to the occasion. At this point I should point out that while in an enthusiastic condition I am quite proud of my prowess, however it has to be said that while in sleeping mode, it has the extraordinary ability to shrivel to embarrassing proportions. And this was my predicament as my young courtesan bored of my inactivity approached.Till the day I die, I will never forget the look on her face, and the high squeaky giggle as she looked over my shoulder and accusingly wiggled her little finger. I can laugh now, but at the time I was mortified. At that time in Japan £4.00 must have been quite a considerable amount of money, because that young lady certainly earned it as she worked tirelessly to bring Lazarus back from the dead.On returning to the ship I still had another six hours work to do before I could even get a wink of sleep, and believe me I had no intention of sleeping away one moment of possible shore time while in Japan.Harpic returned to the ship after his second foray ashore, yes he was still in love and claimed to be engaged. Unfortunately time would dull his ardour for his new bride. Our next port of call was back in the Persian Gulf, and that was the last we saw of Harpic. He was flown back to the U.K. With a severe case of syphilis. Fully loaded again we set sail for Perth W.A. We docked in Fremantle, and somebody had the bright idea of telephoning the local seaman’s mission. Again I don’t know how it came to pass, but we were invited to a dance at a local church hall. Congregationalist I think it was, anyhow the minister of said congregation said he would pick us up in the church bus. I think there were about twenty of up able to go, and to our eager surprise there were already about twelve young ladies aboard the bus. Being the youngest and fittest of our company I was able to secure myself a seat beside a particularly attractive young lady, who could not have been any older than myself, if that? Very vivacious, very chatty, and with the shortest mini-skirt you can imagine, (just below see level.) We got on right away like a house on fire, and as I was soon to discover she was just as much on fire as was I. Before we got anywhere near our destination I managed to get my hand up her skirt, and into her panties. ‘What a wonderful country Australia is,’ I thought to myself. It was at that moment of self-congratulation the pastor spotted my assignations. The lovely temptress was banished to the rear of the bus, and the pastor planked himself assertively down beside me, and I was subjected to a lengthy sermon on the ruinous miss-guided effects of my carnal desires. The rest of that evening I spent unable to escape his orionis gaze.As Perth disappeared over the horizon and we headed back to the colder waters of the northern hemisphere I vowed to myself that I would return to the land down under.

Please tell us how much you enjoyed this story.

A Word from the AuthorA Glimpse At The Past is as yet incomplete.Who knows how far I may go with this look back in time.I welcome any comment, hopefully favourable.If any readers would like to read on, there are more episodes on my blog: http://callumc.wordpress.com.Here are links to my published works Right Hand Up To God and Princess Sheeba. If you send your email address to me at mjcroan@gmail.com, I'll send you a free PDF or Word copy of Right Hand Up To God. But hurry, this offer lasts only until Christmas!